The winds that blows
by Sigrid Sigbjornsdotter
Summary: There is always a wind blowing over the open fields of Rohan. As a child, Eowyn loved it and it was her friend; in later years, it has changed, and the wind has became a cold and sharp enemy. Or perhaps that s just in her own mind...


**The wind that blows**

_Edoras_

The wind that blows over the fields of Rohan is a soft one.

I always thought so as a child.

The wind made the grass billow, as if a great hand stroked the hills and valleys and made it bend and rise again. The wind was warm and safe, it played joyfully with my long hair and made my skirts flap in the wind like a standard – like the standards in Edoras as so much admired. The wind was always there, whether I galloped free and wild over the fields on my beloved horse, played with my brother outside Meduseld, or trained with my sword at the training court, it was there, soft and gentle, filling my heart with the joy of freedom and brushing the sorrows out of my mind. When my mother and father died, it dried the tears on my cheeks and drowned the sound of others grieving. Stormy nights the wind howled around the corners of our house, making candles go out and the fire rove, but I was never afraid. The wind promised excitement and adventures and was my friend.

But the wind is not soft any longer.

I do not know when it all began. It was before the darkness and fear came to Rohan, before my uncle was poisoned by Grímas forked tongue. The wind cannot be affected by such things. It is always the same – but not for me.

The wind that blows over the fields of Rohan is now a cold one. It is sharper, piercing my body with its cold like a blade of steel, forcing its way into my heart and leaving me like a frozen statue. It goes into the halls of Meduseld, stops not for doors and shutters, finds its way through fissures and holes; haunts me day and night with its bitter cold. The wind throws itself upon me, slams into me with the power of a thousand men. It comes with fear and makes my heart tremble and my feet stumble.

I stand on the balcony looking out at the houses of Edoras beneath me, the vast green fields beyond, stretching out to the horizon. But the wind makes my eyes water. It pushes me backwards; back, into the halls where I am destined to go cold and bitter, doing my duty, serving, serving and serving.

I cannot go forward. I cannot be free. For this is how it is: I am a woman, and my loot is to stay. Whenever the men go, I must stay; wherever they go, I must wait, however they go, I must accept; and when they come back, dinner must be ready, their beds made, and their clothes clean.

I must not greet them, not must I smile; I can hate them if I like. But I can never show my hatred, so then I must go quiet and bitter in all my days.

That is how it is supposed to be; it is what they expect from me. There is nothing I can do, for that is how it has been in hundreds of years, and no one will help me to change it, for no one wants to change it. I stand alone and I have nothing to put against. I fear that I have no choice but to do as they tell me.

And the wind? The wind is out of reach for me. It promises freedom and happiness; that is not my loot. I stretch out my hands and stand there empty-handed, while the wind pulls my hair – pulls my hair and pushes me back into the dark halls.

Why did it play with me before? Why did it pretend that the dream was real? I was a blue-eyed child, and the wind fooled me easily.

* * *

_Rohan, on the way to Helms Deep_

The wind that blows over the fields of Rohan vary between cold and warm.

It is cold when I look at the people around me – these exhausted, frightened men and women, their hungry children, their heavy burdens of all possessions they could carry. When I look at the high mountains, the long way in front of us and the worried faces of the soldiers, the wind makes me shudder.

It is warm when I look at him, and even warmer when he speaks to me. His rough clothes, his dark hair, his incredible grey eyes; all of it makes me warm inside. The wind plays with his hair and strokes his noble face, and a part of the softness and the burning fire inside him comes to me and makes me feel safe and happy again. I am a child, and yet not; my feelings are not those of a child.

The winds gets cold again when he gets lost in thoughts and I know he is thinking about the woman he loves. The woman he loves – such small, simple words, but so painful to hear. I know I am not her. I have not her qualities. The wind freezes my heart to ice.

Then again, when he tells me that he has lost her, that she has left, the wind is warm and the sun is clear and my heart is filled with hope again.

I am torn between hope and despair.

Hope and despair.

Hope and despair.

Is that also a woman's loot?

* * *

_Gondor, on the road to Minas Tirith_

The wind that blows over the fields of Rohan is filled with fear. I can still feel it, even if it is long gone. It was worried; tried to push us back, back behind the safe borders of our land… but the borders won't be safe for long if we do not go to save them.

It was cold this time also, but it could not affect me. Nothing affects me any longer. When I took on the helmet and the chainmail, I took on armor harder than any metal. No pain, no fear, no grief shall be able to break it.

He is walking the Path of the Dead and I will never meet him again – but we are all walking a path of death. We are all going to die. The brave hobbit in front of me, my uncle, my brother – every soldier in the lines behind me is going to die. I am not afraid. I am free at last from my chains – not staying, not waiting, not accepting.

Far behind us is Rohan. It feels strange to leave it, like a hole inside me. I have never been outside Rohan before, and the whole spirit of this new land is foreign; and so I am going to die in a foreign place. I miss the fields, the hills, the green grass and the great blue sky.

And I miss the wind. I made me cold; without it, I am colder.

But I shall not let that affect me. Nothing can affect me. As Éowyn, I was a prisoner; as Dernhelm, I am free. I shall die free, and the shell of ice around my heart shall never melt.

* * *

_Minas Tirith, the Houses of Healing_

The wind that blows over the fields of Rohan, blows all the way to the White City.

As I stand in the gardens outside the Houses of Healing, gazing out at the streets and houses spreading out in all directions around me, feeling the warmth of the sun on my arms and the strength of the ancient stone beneath my feet, it suddenly strokes my cheek. It lifts a stray of my long hair – carefully, as if not sure I will allow it – and when I raise my head, it embraces me like when I were a child.

It comes from the north and bears the familiar smells of my homeland. So warm and soft. Now, when the ice is gone from my heart, the shell is broken and the bitterness has fled, I open my heart and the wind fills it with happiness and the joy of freedom. It goes into the Houses of Healing and the many houses in the White City, drying the tears on the grieving women's cheeks, playing with the fatherless children's hair, making them laugh for the first time in many weeks. Their laughter fills the streets and the hearts of their mothers and the wind carries the laughter to the garden where I stand.

It gives promises of new times to come.

As I stand there, I look out over Pelennor Fields. They are burnt now, but grass and flowers grow in burnt earth. It will be green again, and then I will ride free and wild to the horizon – but not alone. I will never more have to be alone.

For you will be with me.

The wind twirls around us, happy because we are happy. I lean my head to your shoulder, and my hair mixes with yours. It strikes me how alike him you are – your dark hair, your noble face, even the blood that runs in your veins, and your love to this city. But you are also different from him, because you are not out of my reach – and most of all, I do not love you because you are a king, but because you are… because of everything you are. Because you have put your arm around my shoulder, giving me support, and because you know I do not need support. Because you took care of me and healed me and taught me to be happy, and still see me as your equal. Because you did not pity me without understanding. Because of everything. And because of nothing, for I had loved you even if you had been nothing.

The wind brings memories of my home, the wondrous and ancient and beautiful place where I grew up and which I love, and for a moment I long for those things. I know that if I came back, the wind would no longer feel cold or unfriendly, the halls would no longer be dark, and the fields would no longer be out of reach for me – because that was me, it was my feelings, not the wind. But then I hear your heart beating beneath my ear, and all my longing is gone. There are no holes inside me, for you fill them all; and the wind brings parts of Rohan to me, filling in the fissures. It brings me the beauty, but most of all the freedom.

Here, in Gondor, can I imagine to stay. For you I can imagine to wait, and all you do I can imagine to accept.

But I am not simply doing my duty as a woman.

I can stay, because you would never go without me. I can wait, because you would never let me. I can accept, because you accept.

And here, in Gondor – in Ithilien, where I have not yet been, I want our children to grow up. You have told me that it is beautiful, or should be now that the darkness is gone, and that we can make it even more beautiful. You have told me that there is not much wind in Ithilien, because the trees and the mountains protect it. It makes me a little sad, for I had wanted our children to grow up with and love the wind as I do – but they will get so much else, and I trust the wind to find its way to us somehow.

We have stood here for a while, but now we must go. I have grown to love these peaceful gardens, but it is time for dinner and we cannot stand here alone while our friends miss us. I take your hand, and you smile to me. I can only smile back. Every time you smile, I am stunned by your beauty, and then stunned again by the joy filling my heart.

As we go, the wind whispers in my ear:

"Éowyn, Éowyn, you white princess of Rohan! Are you happy now?"

And the answer surprises me, for there have been so many years when I thought I would never be happy again.

* * *

So, what do you think? This is the first story I ever think of writing that does not contain Legolas – I was actually very near to mention him when writing about Ithilien, but deleted it as soon as I wrote it down. And I am actually rather surprised with the whole plot; it just came to me and I wrote it down in one or two hours, having never ever thought of the idea of having wind as a theme. But it turned out fine, I think, even if it is rather short.

And I didn´t know Éowyn was such a drama-queen.

Disclaimer: perhaps it should be in the beginning, but I thought it looked better here. I do not own any of the characters or places in this story, I´m just messing around with them.

**Thank you for reading and please, please review!**


End file.
